Stop me if you’ve heard this one: An Indian, a drunk and a cripple walk into a bar . . . Okay, not really. It’s more like a grown-up version of the Goonies if it were birthed by the Cohen Brothers. This is the tale of three loveable and oh-so-very-down-on-their-luck losers who catch a whiff of gold fever and wander off into Arizona’s Chocolate Mountains in order to find a long abandoned treasure. Along the way, they learn they need to be very careful where they step . . .
Get chased by a couple of bumbling idiots and their momma who happen to think that . . . .
And have the most unexpected soundtrack to help them through their journey . . .
Can they make it through the wilderness? Can they make it through-oooh-oooh? Read the book to find out. Oh and if you’re a female you might discover your voice drops a couple of octaves and a penis starts to sprout by the time you’re finished because this mahfah is high on testosterone.
Now for a little confession (you really didn’t expect this thing to not go off the rails, did you?). Johnny Shaw went on my radar along with Joe Lansdale because errrrryone I respect/agree with (excluding Ron 2.0 – it was probably just a fluke that we agreed on something) was really digging his stuff. Since I am an old geezer, I promptly forgot about Mr. Shaw and moved on to
Anyway, I’ll be getting to Dove Season soon . . . well, maybe. If I’m being totally honest I’m probably forget about it again.
To get back on track and wrap things up, I loved this damn book. I can’t remember the last time I belly-laughed like I did with this one . . .
“If we don’t return the head, his soul wanders, damned. We could be haunted. Or cursed.”
“Do you really believe that?” Harry said, concern in his voice.
“No, I’m just messing with you and the kid,” Frank said. “The guy sounded like a bastard. Landfill’s good enough for me.”
Not to mention I have the mentality of a 12-year old boy . . .
“Careful not to cut yourself.”
“Really? I hadn’t thought of that. Hey, what does this remind you of?”
Harry grabbed the handle of the katana with both hands and stroked it up and down in a not-so-subtle jerking off motion.
Yep, masturbation jokes and morons who go searching for gold armed with a Japanese sword. Good times . . .
One final thing: I tend to get trolled by dudes when I write reviews on “dude books.” Generally these . . . . . . gentlemen like to point out that I’m an idjit due to my use of pictures - and sometimes because I have a vagina (those dudes are probably related to Donal Drumpf). To them I say DUH and to quote from Big Maria I “ain’t no rocket surgeon” and never claimed to be. Keep your trolly little comments to yourself – or better yet write your own review . . .